


You Won't Know What Hit You

by Miko



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clubbing, F/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1663649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko/pseuds/Miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the best answer to a bad experience is to create a new, better experience. Steve knows that as well as anyone, and he's always willing to help a friend. This time, though, he might have gotten in a little over his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Won't Know What Hit You

**Author's Note:**

> Just a disclaimer that I'm a movies-only fan, and only know bits and pieces about the comics. I suck at following what's happening in comics, as much as I'd like to be able to get into them. That being said, I'm stealing the idea of all the Avengers living in Stark Tower just because it's logical and convenient, and will probably happen at some point in MCU anyway.

It was obvious from the moment the lounge door slammed open that something was wrong. Steve looked up from his book, initially pleased to see that Natasha and Clint were back from a week-long undercover mission, but what he saw stopped his happy greeting in his throat.

Both of them were battered and bruised, clothing and faces smudged with dirt and what looked like soot. Clint was clearly exhausted, his steps dragging like he barely had the energy to put one foot in front of the other. Nat _looked_ like she should be equally exhausted, but there was a kind of feverish energy in her eyes.

"We're going out," Natasha announced before anyone could ask what had happened. "Clubbing gear in twenty minutes, every single one of you, no excuses this time."

She'd been trying to coax them all out to a dance club off and on for weeks, insisting that it would be good bonding. Tony was always all for it, of course, but Steve knew just enough about the modern 'clubbing scene' to know it really was not his thing. He'd blush himself to death, probably. So far he'd managed to wiggle out of it, but the look on her face suggested it might be worth his life to refuse this time.

Helplessly Steve glanced over at Bruce, who'd been tinkering with a computer pad in the corner. The other man's expression pretty much matched the way Steve was feeling; deer, meet headlights. "Uh, Natasha," Bruce started awkwardly.

She glared at him for a moment, then sighed. "All right, fine. _One_ get out of jail free card." She looked from Bruce to Steve, and raised an eyebrow. "You going to fight Banner for it, Rogers?"

His probable death-by-embarrassment versus the likelihood of the Hulk smashing his way through a crowded dance club... there really wasn't much in the way of choice there. "No, ma'am," Steve answered, as meekly as he knew how. The submission seemed to satisfy her, because she nodded once and marched into the hall that led to their rooms. Steve heard a door slam a moment later.

"Are we celebrating a triumph in battle?" Thor asked. Steve would have expected more enthusiasm from the Asgardian at the prospect, but even Thor seemed to sense there was something off here, and looked more cautious than excited.

"Exactly the opposite," Clint said, weariness dragging at his voice like it had at his steps. "If you value your lives, don't argue with her until she's got it out of her system. Trust me on this one."

Finally Steve understood what the look in Natasha's eyes had been. Even for the Howling Commandos, missions sometimes went wrong, and when they did the team tended to have one of two reactions. Either they brooded and went quiet for a while, or they threw themselves into 'celebrating' with a kind of grim determination to erase the bad with something good. It usually involved finding the nearest bar or dance hall that was still operating, drinking enough to put most men under the table, and flirting with anything in skirts. Sometimes more than just flirting.

Steve had never really been interested in participating, though he'd let Bucky drag him along. Somebody had to make sure the rest of them survived the night and found their way back to base camp, after all. He could do no less for Natasha now.

There was just one problem. "In the interests of not being gutted for refusing to participate... what exactly constitutes 'clubbing gear'?" he asked cautiously. 

He knew he'd been wise to be wary when Tony's eyes lit up.

* * *

It turned out there was a nightclub built into a corner of Stark Tower, with its own street access and cut off from the rest of the building except for one high-security door. Steve didn't know why he was surprised; it was _Tony's building_. At least it meant they didn't have to run a gauntlet of paparazzi to get in, and Tony assured them that the guest list was highly exclusive and all celebrities themselves, so they were unlikely to make too much of a fuss at seeing the Avengers.

Inside it was chaos and anarchy. Lights flashed and strobed in random patterns that dazzled Steve's eyes, and the bass pounded so loud he could feel it vibrating through his whole body. And at that, he was sitting in one of the 'quiet' corners of the club, where it was actually possible to have a conversation without shouting yourself hoarse. 

He hesitated to call what was playing 'music', and likewise hesitated to call what was happening on the floor 'dancing', but the participants seemed to be enjoying themselves. Maybe a little too much. As predicted, Steve had started blushing the moment he'd laid eyes on the crowd of people who seemed to him to be attempting to have sex standing up with their clothes on in public.

Actually, that wasn't even true. He'd started blushing the moment he'd gotten a good look at the outfit Natasha had emerged in. Technically she was more covered than many of the women on the dance floor, but most of the tiny dress was sheer, and even the parts that weren't _clung_ to her body in the way that only modern fabrics could. It moved with her like a second skin, though every time she stretched her arms above her head as she danced he was _sure_ the skirt was going to ride up just a little too high.

Part of him was scolding that he should look away, focus on the walls or the DJ or anything but the scantily clad bodies gyrating on the dance floor. But he was only human, and it was one hell of a view. He wasn't likely to come back for the fun of it any time soon, so he figured he might as well enjoy what he could since he was here anyway.

Again and again his gaze was drawn back to Natasha. She was stunning, both in her looks and the way she moved. All that lethal grace he appreciated so much on the battlefield was being put to good use on the dance floor. Somehow she made the most ridiculous dance moves look attractive. It didn't hurt that she'd been dancing with Clint pretty much since they'd arrived, and the two of them together were good enough that some other dancers were standing back and applauding them.

Though whenever they started dancing close, he had to look away or risk his ears burning right off from the heat of his blush. He'd always suspected they were... something... but seeing it on display like that was awkward. Well, awkward for him. Obviously not so much for them. 

This time when he glanced over, however, it looked like Clint had finally had enough. He'd pulled away, and Natasha was saying something with a sharp look on her face, to which Clint just kept shaking his head. Eventually Nat must have given in, because she followed him when he left the dance floor and headed for the bar.

Steve sighed, and wondered how long he had to stay before he could slip away. The noise and lights were giving him a headache, and it wasn't like he could even get drunk to enjoy himself. Tony was on the floor and not likely to leave any time soon, and Thor had gotten involved in a drinking contest that had already laid out three men. He was bored, and even for Natasha there was only so much of this he could take. He didn't dare leave without at least telling her he was going, though, and he hadn't wanted to venture onto the dance floor.

As if they'd read his thoughts, a moment later Clint and Nat pushed through the crowd towards him. Clint sank onto one of the bar stools; Steve couldn't actually hear the relieved sigh the other man gave, but he could see it in Clint's expression. Steve looked up at Natasha, but any hope he might have had that she would be equally exhausted and ready to call it a night was dashed by the impatient look on her face.

"All right, Barton's age is apparently catching up with him," she declared, earning a brief glare from Clint. "Rogers, your turn. I know you're embarrassed, but you'll have more fun dancing than you think you will, trust me."

"Time was, I only had to worry about stepping on my partner's toes," Steve said with a certain amount of amusement. "Now I think I'd have to worry about stepping on _everyone's_ toes, they're so packed in, and it wouldn't be pretty."

"Come on, I'll teach you," Natasha insisted, holding out her hand to him. "I didn't drag you out here just to make you sit miserably in a corner, Steve."

From the side Clint was giving him a Significant Look, and Steve remembered what the other man had said about not arguing with Natasha until she'd worked this mood out. For a moment he contemplated taking her hand, letting her drag him out there - he'd make a fool of himself, but she'd probably realize he was hopeless pretty quickly and give up on him, and then maybe he could leave.

Then he thought about dancing with her, the way she'd been dancing with Clint, pressed tight to him and rubbing her body against his in that provocative dress...

"Nat, I'm sorry," he blurted out, and his voice was hoarse. He coughed and shifted on his stool, grateful he was sitting and the table would hide his very visceral reaction to the mental image. "Please, I just can't. It's too much."

Disappointment flashed in her eyes, but it was replaced by irritation so fast he almost missed it. She flipped her hand at both of them in what was clearly a dismissing gesture. "Fine, you two can hang out here together. I'm not done yet."

With that she was gone, pushing her way back through the crowd to the dance floor. Steve sighed, and rubbed at his face with both hands, feeling the burn of his blush even in the heat of the nightclub. He was probably going to pay for that refusal, but there was just no way he could do what she wanted of him.

Something blessedly cold nudged his forearm, and he looked up to see Clint offering him a sweating bottle of beer. "Thanks," Steve said with genuine gratitude as he took the bottle and tipped it to his lips. He might not be capable of getting drunk, but right now he just wanted the cool liquid. "I know you said not to argue with her..."

"If you can't, you can't," Clint cut him off with a shrug. He was leaning his head on one hand, elbow propped on the table to keep him upright, beer gripped loosely in his other hand. He looked like he was just about ready to pass out, and Steve grimaced in sympathy. "Might be just as well, I'm not sure you could handle her right now. Just means she'll be more aggressive with whoever she does eventually pick out. They'll survive - might not know what hit them in the morning, but they'll survive."

"You make it sound like she's going to, uh," Steve searched for a way to put it that wouldn't be horribly offensive. "Take someone else home with her?" That surprised him, given the way she'd been dancing with Clint just a few minutes ago. It surprised him even more that Clint could speak so casually about the idea of his girl with someone else.

He glanced out over the dance floor again, and sure enough Natasha had picked out a new partner and was dancing with just as much intensity as she had with Clint. Steve's surprise doubled when the couple turned and he realized Nat's new partner was another woman, though it did make Clint's use of 'they' instead of 'he' make sense.

Hastily Steve lifted the beer to his lips again, grateful for the coolness even as he wished it was a block of ice instead of just a chilled bottle. He couldn't tear his eyes off the two women, and the heat that washed through his body in waves felt like it was burning him from the inside out.

There hadn't been any answer from Clint, and when Steve did finally manage to look away he half expected to find the other man asleep on the table. Instead Clint was frowning at him, mouth pulled tight and eyebrows drawn down. "What?" Steve asked, startled by the obvious disapproval. Had he been too blatant about appreciating the sight of Natasha dancing with another woman? Probably. Small wonder Clint was mad at him.

Clint's response surprised him, though. "Don't judge her," the other man said harshly. "Nat had a rough time of it this mission, really rough. She sees her body as a weapon, and I don't just mean in a fight, but sometimes she needs to remind herself that it can be about pleasure and not just business. The fact that she still _can_ do that is one of the things that keeps her grounded, and on our side."

"What? No," Steve denied the accusation, eyes wide. "I'm not... I'm not _judging_ anybody, Clint. It's none of my business. You're right, if that's what she needs to do to keep from being eaten alive by the job, then I'm glad she's got an outlet." And he was. He'd seen people do stranger things, and worse things, in an attempt to keep themselves sane under the pressures of war. There might not be an official war going on now, but for everyone in Shield, and especially the Avengers, the pressure never eased.

He looked back out over the dance floor with new insight, and this time when he found Natasha he thought he could see the subtle edge of desperation in her movements as she danced. She had two partners now, the woman in front and a man grinding against her from behind. Her eyes were closed and her head tipped back, but she looked like she felt more pain than pleasure.

It made his heart hurt for her, squeezing in his chest in a way that caused his breath to come short. He could never do what she did, could never let people violate his body like that and come out of it whole on the other side. Getting injured in a fight was nothing to that kind of pain, and he respected the hell out of her even as he hated that she felt the need to do it. That there _was_ a need for somebody to do it.

"Would it really help if I went out there?" he heard himself ask, before his brain could catch up with his mouth. "I mean, I wasn't kidding about being a dancing disaster. And I really don't think I could do... _that_." He meant the intensely sexual way she was dancing with her current partners, but he realized after he said it that it could be extended to cover the rest of her plans for the evening.

"It would give her something else to focus on, outside of herself," Clint replied. "She's been itching to get you to cut loose. Teaching you to dance a little would probably let her calm down enough that she won't live up to her code name and eat her eventual choice alive. Just put your foot down when you've reached your limits; she'll respect that. She's not interested in forcing anybody."

Closing his eyes, Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He might need to take an extra-long shower when he got back to his rooms, but if it would really help Nat, well, it wasn't like he'd be 'taking one for the team'. He'd enjoy himself, he had no doubt of that. It was how _much_ he'd enjoy himself, and whether it would affect his relationship with her afterwards, that he was worried about.

"All right," he declared, before he could lose his nerve. He stood and put his bottle on the table, then hesitated and looked at Clint. "What about the two of you?"

"I've been her go-to guy for this more than once," Clint admitted with a shrug. "She's been mine when I needed something like it, for that matter. But there's no way in hell I have the energy to keep up with her tonight."

The casual way he spoke of the relationship reassured Steve that he wasn't about to snipe his friend's girl. "All right. I suggest you get out of here while the coast is clear, and rest up," he suggested, and clapped Clint on the shoulder as he moved past.

"Just remember what I said about not knowing what hit you," he thought he heard Clint say over the music, but when he looked back the other man was already gone, heading for the door back into the Tower.

Steeling himself for the tight press of bodies against his, Steve worked his way out onto the dance floor. He lost sight of Natasha in the crowd as soon as he entered the mob, but he headed for where he'd last seen her and eventually spotted the flash of her red hair just ahead of him. She'd changed partners, and was now sandwiched between two men who seemed perfectly content to share her.

Old habits died hard, and Steve tapped the guy in front of her politely on the shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?" he asked.

"Go find your own," the guy started, but Natasha's eyes had opened at the sound of his voice.

"Steve!" she exclaimed, and wriggled her way out from between her partners to clasp his hands. "You came out!" Her pleasure and excitement was unfeigned as far as he could tell, and it made him squeeze her fingers back, gently.

"Well, I'll never learn if I don't at least try," he said. She smiled, and tipped her head at the other two guys in a way that made them sigh and head off in search of new... well, prey didn't seem like the right word. Not when Natasha had been their target.

"It's easier than you think, you'll see," she coaxed him. "Just forget about the crowd, nobody's paying any attention to anything but trying to get into the pants of their current partner, trust me. They won't give you a second glance."

The reminder that everyone around them was focused on sex really didn't do much to help Steve relax. He tried to put it out of his head, paying attention to her, instead. The skin-tight dress was even sexier up close, and her body shone with the gleam of sweat through the sheer pieces. She was flushed from exertion - well, or maybe arousal, he revised his opinion when he saw how the heat reached her eyes. He had to swallow hard. He'd never thought the expression 'drooling over her' could be literal, but she made it difficult just to remember to keep breathing.

"You're going to have to teach me right from the basics," he said, and was grateful that the way he had to shout over the music meant she wouldn't hear the hoarseness in his voice. "I've never done this before."

"Just move with me," she said, taking his hands and putting them on her hips, then resting her own on his waist. She started swaying her hips in time with the music, and he did his best to follow her lead, though he felt like he could never hope to match the grace she displayed. 

"It's not that different from close quarters fighting, really," she told him. "Think of it like you're trying to block me from getting past you, but do it to the beat. Stay loose and ready to move in any direction."

The advice actually did help a little, and Steve concentrated hard on matching her movements. She guided him with her hands, voice, and body, and after a while it did start to feel more natural. It helped that they'd fought and trained together so many times. He could read her intentions in the slightest shifts of her body, and that made it easier to go along with her.

"That's it," she praised him. "Just keep moving, and do whatever feels right." She let go of his waist and turned in his arms, back now pressed against his chest, then lifted her arms to twine around his neck and pull him close. 

His hands had slipped down as she moved, and his thumbs now rested on the sweet curve of her ass, his fingers ghosting over her hip bones. If he'd touched any woman from his time like that, he'd have gotten slapped in a hurry, but she kept dancing without even seeming to notice. Nearly the whole back of her dress was sheer, dipping well below her waistline. Steve swore he could feel the scorching heat of her body against his even through the thin fabric of his shirt, and he had to swallow again. 

'Do what feels right', she'd said, and 'She needs to feel pleasure' Clint had said. Well, anyone could see that the dance movements were meant to mimic sex, so what if he stopped moving with her and started moving against her?

The next time she rocked back, he tipped his hips forward instead, rubbing against her in a way that made him feel far too overheated. She seemed to agree, because she gasped a little. He tensed and started to pull back, an apology on the tip of his tongue, certain he'd miscalculated.

Before he could get more than an inch away, however, she tightened her arms and ground back against him again, not just moving backwards and forwards now but in little circles that stole the breath straight from his lungs. He groaned and tightened his grip, struggling not to hold on too hard and cause bruises, but he needed the anchor.

"Why, Steve," there was a distinct purr in her voice even though she had to shout above the music. "I didn't know you had it in you." She'd tipped her head back against his shoulder, and when he glanced down her eyes were half-lidded in a way that did nothing to hide the heat in them. Conversely, it made him shiver, and he felt her chuckle vibrate against his chest.

The posture had opened her neck up, creating a long, tempting line, and he let himself act on that temptation. He trailed his mouth over her skin, lips brushing the column of her throat just below her ear, and it was her turn to shiver. "You might be surprised what I'm capable of," he told her. Her scent was intoxicating, rich and heady and somehow indefinably _her_. He breathed deeply, letting himself savour it. 

Someone tried to join them, sidling up to Natasha's front. Steve only realized when she dropped her arms from around his neck to gently push the interloper away, shaking her head. Feeling like he was in a daze, he glanced up just in time to see a woman shrug and back off, fading into the crowd. Part of him was a little disappointed, because watching Natasha dance with that other woman had been very enticing, but mostly he was grateful. He was already overwhelmed, and maybe Nat understood that he wouldn't have been able to handle any more.

Instead of lifting her arms again, she dropped them and reached around behind herself to catch at his hips, pulling him tight against her and not letting him move away. Feeling bold, he let his hands move forward in turn, fingers following the curve of one of the sheer panels until the tips were brushing against her inner thigh. She responded by moving in more of those maddening circles against him, centered right at the place where his erection pressed painfully against the front of his jeans. Damn Tony and the ridiculously tight jeans he'd insisted Steve wear. Steve swore he could feel every tiny movement of her body, and he'd never been so hard in his life.

He couldn't keep this up for long, but he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he could. He tried to focus on her instead of himself, hands tracing patterns across her hips and abdomen. Every so often he'd wring a little noise from her that went straight to his groin, and she'd arch against his hands for a moment. When he skimmed his hands up, fingers wrapped around her ribs just beneath the fullness of her breasts, she groaned.

"You're killing me," she complained, and startled a laugh out of him. 

"I'm killing _you_?" he replied, letting his hands drift down again despite her noise of complaint. 

"Never figured you for a tease, Steve," she said, and pushed back into him with a little more force.

"Look who's talking," he said, the words nearly a gasp. He wasn't sure what they were doing could be termed 'dancing' anymore even by loose modern standards of the word. In fact the only description he could think of that fit was 'foreplay', and there wasn't a whole lot of 'fore' either. 

It was too much; he was at his limit and past it, and he was probably going to be blushing for a week straight, but it had been worth it. He just hoped it was enough for her, that he'd helped her at least in some small way to feel better. She'd certainly made him feel like he'd hit the stars.

"All right," he said, and eased away from her. Or rather, tried to. He didn't get far before her grip tightened on his hips and yanked him back against her. "Nat," he protested, groaning as she rocked into him again. "Nat, I can't..."

She released him with one hand, and he thought he was getting a reprieve, but she just lifted it to his neck and fisted her fingers in the hair at the back of his head. The sharp tug made him shudder and breathe hard as she pushed his head back down to her neck. He couldn't resist the urge to bite at the soft skin there, and the sharp noise she made in response was beautiful.

He could feel his body tightening, muscles tensing until he was all but quivering with _need_ , and he knew he had to put a stop to it or he was going to _really_ embarrass himself. She had to know what she was doing to him, didn't she? There was no way she couldn't feel the hard length of him pressed firmly into her ass, and she was a master at reading body language, she had to know how close he was. "Nat, please," he panted, trying again to pull back.

She didn't let him budge an inch. "Tell me to stop and I'll walk away, but anything else I'm just going to take as encouragement," she told him, and her voice was just as husky as his.

"I'm... I'm going to..." he stammered, hands tightening at her waist as he held desperately to his self-control.

"Yes," she gasped, and, "Please," and the needy sound in her voice was what tipped him over the edge.

He came hard, shaking with it, and honestly wasn't even sure how he managed to keep his feet. Probably because she was still pressed tight against him, like she was trying to feel the orgasm through him. The world blurred around him for a moment, noise and light and heat and scent crashing into him and making him reel.

She tugged at him, and he followed her blindly, obediently, willing to do just about anything she wanted in that moment. When he managed to shake off the daze and focus again, he found she'd led them into the relative quiet of a dark corner, not far from the hall that led to the Tower door. She was looking up at him with an expression that mingled amusement, concern, and more than a little arousal. "Are you all right?" she asked when she saw he was looking at her properly.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just," Steve struggled for words that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot. "That was... Jesus, Nat." She quirked an eyebrow at him in a particular way he knew far too well, and he cut her off before she could say anything else. "If you ask me if that was my first time since 1945, I will hit you. And I won't pull the punch."

Because it wasn't his first since 1945 - it was his first _ever_. Well, first by someone else's doing, he wasn't a saint. He really did not want to admit that to her and open himself up for future teasing. She already had more than enough fodder as it was.

Thankfully, she just smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning against him. "All right, I won't," she agreed. "I'm sorry if I pushed you too far."

"I didn't say stop," he pointed out. "Did it help?" She didn't ask what he meant, just nodded, and he hugged her back. "Good. Uh, what about you, though? Did you, um..." How the hell did he ask if she'd gotten as much out of that as he had?

She laughed and rested her head against his shoulder. "It's not as easy for me to get off without being arrested for public indecency," she said. "Not impossible, but not easy."

"Christ, don't remind me," he said, voice shaking as he felt the blush rush all the way to the tips of his ears. He'd just... they'd just... in front of a _hundred people_. God. His next trip to church was going to be fun, because he had no idea how he'd ever manage to confess this sin out loud to a priest.

"Steve..." her voice was serious now, and when she pulled back to look up at him the amusement had faded from her expression. "We're good, right?"

He knew she was talking about their friendship and partnership, and he was grateful she was asking the question because it meant she didn't want that to be damaged, either. "We're good," he confirmed, and saw relief in her eyes. "In the long term, anyway. Right now, well, this is hardly fair."

"I'll survive," she assured him. "You should probably head up, I think that's enough excitement for a ninety-year-old for one night." She was already turning to scan the dancers, probably looking for a likely next partner. Someone she could take back upstairs with her to finish her night.

The thought made him tighten his grip on her, and she looked back at him in surprise. "I don't want to leave it at that," he insisted. "Nat, that was amazing. I want you to feel good, too."

"We shouldn't," she said, biting her lip. "Steve, I know you think of sex as being something special. Intimate. I probably shouldn't even have gone this far, though it was definitely amazing. Anything more... I can't be what you want. Not without pretending, and that wouldn't be fair to either of us."

Lifting one hand, he cupped her cheek, thumb brushing against her lip to soothe the indent made by her teeth. He heard the way her breath caught in her throat, saw the way her pupils went wide, and he knew she wasn't refusing from lack of desire.

"It is something special, and intimate," he agreed, voice husky, grateful she'd found a relatively quiet corner for them to have this discussion. "Maybe you don't know what I want as well as you think you do. I'm not asking for a commitment, Nat. Just a chance to give back, and show you another way it can be."

She closed her eyes and muttered something in Russian. It might have been a curse, or maybe a prayer, based on her tone. Heart pounding in his chest, he leaned in to kiss her, and was gratified when she tightened her arms around his waist and kissed him back for all she was worth.

This was nothing like the kiss on the escalator, when they'd both been half distracted by worrying about being caught, and focused more on making it look good than making it feel good. She licked and nipped and sucked at his lips, and he did his best to give as good as he got, learning as he went. 

She was rocking against him again, but it wasn't the sort of focused, intent movements she'd used before when she was teasing him. This was more uncontrolled, instinctive, and he let her body guide him the same way as when they were dancing. He shifted, then slipped one leg between hers, and she reacted immediately by grinding down against his thigh. 

It also meant one of her legs was between his, and when her hip rubbed against his erection she broke off with a little gasp. "You're still... didn't you..." she said, and he was inordinately pleased that he'd managed to make her stammer as well.

"Enhanced endurance," he reminded her, pushing her a little harder into the wall. "There were a few side effects to the serum Erskine didn't mention."

"Oh, God," she said, but she didn't sound upset about it. Far from it, the hungry tone of her voice would have been enough to get him hard again even if he'd been a regular guy, he was sure of it. "Steve..."

Her hand fisted in his shirt, and he was a little afraid she was planning to tear it right off. "Not here," he said hastily, and backed away enough to let them both breathe. "Not like this. I want to do this properly, Nat. Please," he added, when it looked like she was thinking about objecting.

She blew out a hard breath and shook her head, but took his hand and tugged him towards the exit. "You've got five minutes," she told him with a dark smirk. "Wherever we are then is where it's happening."

"Good thing it's a fast elevator," he said, taking the lead and increasing his pace, because he was pretty sure she was dead serious.

She was on him again the moment the elevator doors closed, and he kissed back just as hard, pushing her into the mirrored wall. She hooked one leg around his waist, making her skirt ride up and tilting her hips into his in the most delicious way. He slid his hands down to cup her ass, and she took that as an invitation to take both feet off the ground, knowing he was perfectly capable of holding her up. With both her legs wrapped around him it put her most intimate place squarely against his fly, and he groaned as he rocked into her.

For a moment he _very seriously_ contemplated just hitting the emergency stop button. There were six elevators, two of which went all the way to the top floors, it wasn't like they'd be putting anybody out. Hell, Tony had done it twice since Steve had moved into the Tower, and Pepper had never seemed to have any complaints about the location.

But no, damn it. It was his first time, and she needed something as different as she could get from her experiences on the mission, whatever they had been. He wanted to do this _right_ , for both their sakes.

"Let go," he murmured against her lips as they neared the top floors. When she just tightened her grip, he stopped supporting her and slipped his hands up to her waist, unintentionally pushing her skirt even higher. "Nat, let go," he insisted, though the glimpse of black lace beneath the skirt was making it hard to remember why he wanted her to.

"You could have carried me," she grumbled, but let her body slide down his. Slowly, and deliberately, pressing every inch of herself against him that she could, and God, she was going to drive him out of his mind.

"Clint and Bruce are up here," he reminded her as the door dinged and opened. Breathing hard, he gripped her hand and pulled her out of the elevator, heading towards his rooms with single-minded intensity.

Intensity that wasn't eased when she leaned in and whispered, "Thirty seconds - and we still have to get through the lounge."

"Hell," he muttered under his breath, and she laughed. 

Thankfully there was no sign of Clint or Bruce, and Tony and Thor were presumably still living it up at the club. Steve ran out of time about three steps from his door, and Natasha was true to her word, slipping a foot between his ankles to trip him up and then pushing him back against the wall for a fierce kiss.

She sucked at his bottom lip, hands tugging his shirt out of his pants, and he shuddered. Wrapping his hands around her waist, he lifted her again, and she readily hooked her legs over his hips. 

That gave him just enough mobility to make it the last few feet through his door. He kicked it shut behind him, giving them blessed privacy at last. 

"God, you're incredible," he said, carrying her over to the bed. He wanted to tumble straight down onto it, with her beneath him, but he forced himself to lower her gently, reverently. She squirmed against him, obviously wanting more, but he refused to be rushed.

His hands might have been trembling, just a little, as he ran them from her knees up the sides of her legs, fingers trailing against the satiny skin until he met fabric. He pushed it up, still going slow, taking delight in the feel of every inch.

"Steve," she hissed out between clenched teeth, writhing under his touch. Her hands were back at his waist, trailing over his abs beneath the untucked shirt and then dipping down to his waistband. "More. _Now_."

"Nope," he said, grinning down at her. "We did it your way on the dance floor. Now we're doing it my way." He wanted to savour the experience, worship her, treat her the way she deserved to be treated. The way he suspected she so rarely was.

Then she got her hand inside his jeans and wrapped around him, and he decided he might be willing to speed up the timetable just a bit.

Still he took the time to run his hands over her thighs as he continued to push the skirt up. That bit of black lace he'd glimpsed earlier turned out to be the sexiest damned panties he'd ever imagined, framed by neatly trimmed dark red curls. Steve could feel his blood pressure rising just looking at her. The temptation to touch was strong, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. There was still so much more to explore.

He had the skirt up to her waist now, but he wasn't going to be able to get it much further without her cooperation. Her hands were a little busy, stroking and pulling at him through the open fly of his jeans, making it hard for him to breathe. "I want to see all of you," he said, tugging at the stretchy material of the dress.

"Only if I get to see you too," she said, and reluctantly removed her hand from him.

Steve had never stripped down so fast in his life, more than grateful to get out of his soiled jeans and nearly tangling himself in his own shirt in his haste to get it over his head, because he didn’t want to take his eyes off her. The sensuous way she wriggled the dress off her body was the most enticing thing he'd ever seen. At least, until it was off and she was lying there in his bed in just that lacy scrap of panty and matching bra, because he was pretty sure _nothing_ could match that image. 

He was going to fill an entire sketchbook with memories of this night, he just knew it.

Leaning over her, he ran his hands up from her hips to just beneath her breasts, curving his fingers around her ribs there the way she'd said was teasing her earlier. He wanted to make this good for her, but all he had to guide him was instinct, dirty stories he'd heard, and her reactions. 

She reached between them and touched something on the front of her bra, and it separated into two halves. Slowly he pushed his hands up, nudging the bra out of his way as he cupped the fullness of her breasts in his palms. When his fingers brushed against her taut nipples she gasped and writhed again. He realized she was clutching his shoulders when she dug her nails in, but it didn't feel bad. Far from it.

He lowered his head, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on hers. When his lips met her nipple she closed her eyes and tipped her head back, moaning deep in her throat. She was grinding her hips up, rubbing her centre against the thigh he had between her legs, and he shuddered as he realized he could feel how wet she was. He dropped a hand down to slip between them and beneath the panties, groaning at the slick, hot feel of her flesh against his fingers.

Steve was fumbling blindly, but when he reached the place where she was rocking against his leg he found a little nub that made her scream and buck up against his hand. Worried that he'd hurt her, he started to pull back, and choked when she tightened her hands hard enough to drive her nails into his flesh.

"If you stop I will kill you, do you hear me, don't you dare stop," she gasped out. 

"Never let it be said I denied a lady something she asked for so nicely," he said, lips curving in a way that might have been just a little bit smug as he returned to stroking her. The panties were in the way, and in a fit of impatience he flicked his wrist and tore them right off her. He felt bad a moment later, but the way she screamed again when he was able to press his whole hand against her washed any remorse away.

Two of his fingers slipped inside her without him meaning to, and the tight, wet heat of her took his breath away. He couldn't help but imagine what that was going to feel like around him, and his whole body throbbed with need at the thought. 

She seemed to be winding down, screams turning to whimpers. Steve gentled his touch but didn't stop, fascinated with the way she was flushed all the way down to her breasts. Finally she caught his wrist with one hand and pulled him away, chest heaving in the most appealing way as she fought for air.

"Give me a minute," she said, her voice hoarse but her smile full of heat. "Not all of us have super stamina. Damn, Steve."

The way she said his name, like she was purring it at him, made _him_ flush. "That was fun," he acknowledged. "This is going to sound like a bad villain line, but I like the way you scream."

She chuckled and hit him on the shoulder, then pushed herself up to a sitting position and shrugged out of her undone bra. He swallowed, admiring the view as she closed in on him, until he couldn't see any more because she was pressed against him, breasts to chest, her arms sliding around his waist.

Then she did... something... her body twisted and flowed under his hands, he couldn't get a grip and suddenly the world was spinning. When it steadied again he found himself flat on his back looking up at the ceiling, and she was straddling him with her knees on either side of his waist, her hands braced on his chest.

"God, Nat," he choked out, and shuddered as she tweaked one of his nipples. She rose up a little, then sank back down on him, and he gasped as he felt her wet heat rubbing against his erection. "Nat!"

"Think I'd like to hear you scream, too," she said. "How about it?"

"Anything you want," was his fervent and completely sincere answer. Determined to participate and not just lie there like a lump, he ran his hands over her thighs, up her body and cupped her breasts again. She arched into the touch, and the motion rocked her against him again, making him groan.

She had something in her hands - a condom, he realized when he managed to focus. "What... how...?" He couldn't imagine where she'd gotten it from. Not anywhere in his room, that was for certain.

"Inside pocket in the dress," she said, tearing the package open and pulling the little circle out. She backed off, pulling out of his reach in the process, and placed it over his tip.

Then she completely blew his mind, because instead of unrolling it over him with her hand, she bent down and did it with her _mouth_ , swallowing him slowly from tip to root in the process. 

He fisted his hands in the sheets. If he'd touched her in that moment he might have done irreparable damage, he was wound so tight. "Oh, _shit_ ," he breathed out, and the dirty word was a prayer on his lips.

She chuckled, throat vibrating around him, and he nearly came undone for the second time in one night. He heard the fabric of the sheets tear as he fought for control, and the battle was narrowly won.

Her mouth made an obscenely wet sucking sound as it left him, and she scooted forward to lean over his chest again. "Like that?" she smirked, and then laughed when all he could do was gulp air. "I'll take that as a yes."

Once more she lifted up, then rocked backwards, and this time he sank slowly into her body as she did so. "Yes, Steve," she moaned, nails digging into his ribs as she clutched at him for balance.

He caught her by the waist, supporting her as she started to move over him, rolling her hips in a way that made him feel dangerously feverish. It took him a moment to find and match her rhythm, but once he did he rocked up into her each time she undulated, making her moan with each thrust.

Breathing as slowly as he could to try to hang on to his control, he shifted one hand between them, seeking that tight little bud between her thighs again. He knew he'd hit the right spot when she cried out and sped her pace, grinding against him each time their bodies met before lifting again for the next thrust. 

It was a race and he was losing, the tight heat of her was driving him out of his mind with want and need. She seemed to know he was teetering on the edge, grinning down at him as she _rolled_ her hips, much like she had when pressed against him on the dance floor.

It was too much, and he shouted her name as he came, pulsing inside her. Somehow he managed not to stop the movement of his hand against her, fearing she might just carry through on her earlier threat to kill him if he did.

Then she shuddered and threw her head back, rhythm breaking as she visibly fell apart beneath his touch. It made her ripple against his still sensitive member, and he panted for air. Only when it seemed like she was getting too sensitive again did he pull his hand away.

She collapsed down on top of him, and he was oddly gratified to feel that her heart was racing just as hard as his. He wrapped one arm around her, hand stroking lazily down the ridge of her spine.

"That was... okay, I'm using this word too much tonight, but you've wrecked me and I can't come up with anything better," he said, chuckling. "That was amazing."

"Mmm. Yes, it was," Natasha agreed, stretching languidly against him. "And you did scream very nicely."

"I did not scream," Steve protested. "I mean, okay, I was maybe a little vocal, but I didn't scream."

"Just keep telling yourself that, Rogers," Natasha laughed, and pushed herself carefully off him. She was equally delicate as she pulled the condom off him, tied it and tossed it into the trash can across the room.

He expected her to settle next to him after that, but instead she moved all the way to a sitting position, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Nat? Where are you going?" he asked, surprised.

"Back to my room," she answered without looking at him, reaching down to snag her dress. "Think I'll catch a shower before I crash, we got a little messy. Not that I’m complaining."

Was her tone too carefully casual? Why wouldn't she look at him? Hell, had he done something wrong after all?

Steve gripped her wrist to stop her from getting off the bed, careful to be gentle. "Nat, wait. Don't go yet. If you want to clean up, you can use my bathroom..."

"That's not a good idea, Rogers," she said, catching his hand and being just as gentle as she pried it off her wrist. Now he was sure of it - she was deliberately trying to put distance between them. Her tone, her expression, her body language screamed it. And that was the second time she'd used his last name, when she'd been calling him Steve for the last hour. "Right now, we've only made a bit of a mess. If I stay, it could get a whole lot messier."

He knew she wasn't talking about the possibility that they might be tempted into a second round. Pushing himself up on one arm, he raked the hair out of his eyes with his other hand and tried not to feel hurt. "You know, contrary to what is apparently popular opinion, I am actually capable of telling the difference between lust and love," he said, voice sharp.

He'd caught her by surprise; she stiffened and finally turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. "Oh?"

"Don't get me wrong," he told her, softening his tone now that he had her attention. "I care about you a hell of a lot. Maybe even enough to call it love, but I'm not _in_ love with you. And I'm not going to fall in love with you just because you slept with me. No offense, but I don't think it would work out in the long term between us."

She was frowning now, but not like she was upset. More like he'd surprised her. "Here I thought you were the die-hard romantic of the group. Waiting for the right partner, and all that."

"I am," he acknowledged, unashamed by the description. "You want to know why I keep turning down all your attempts to set me up? Because there's only a tiny handful of people that I trust to get that close to me, and I have a hard time letting anyone new into that circle. I need to be able to _trust_ anyone I'd want to go to bed with, not necessarily be in love with them."

Natasha licked her lips, studying him like his expression held the key to understanding his mind. He smiled at her, a little shyly. "I'd really like it if you stayed. This," he gestured to encompass the bed, her, and himself, "To me this is as much a part of it as the rest. Please?"

She sighed and stood, and for a crushing moment he thought he'd lost her. But she dropped her dress on the floor again, and the door she moved towards was the one to his bathroom, not the hall.

When she returned she had a warm, damp washcloth, and he'd pulled the covers on his bed back and slipped beneath them. She crawled in after him, and he gasped a little as she gently washed the drying fluids from his stomach and thighs. 

"You would be the type to want to cuddle after sex," she said, and while the words sounded a bit accusing, her tone was one of exasperated affection. He winced when she threw the wash cloth onto the floor, but he was much more interested in the warm feel of her body settling in beside him than in cleaning it up. 

Tugging the blankets up over them both, he slipped an arm beneath her and nudged her into a more comfortable position against him. She sighed again, but laid her head on his chest and draped her hand over his abdomen. 

"We're good, right?" he asked, deliberately echoing her earlier question to be sure she understood what he meant. He was almost afraid to hear her answer.

To his relief, she answered firmly and without hesitation. "We're good. And Steve... thank you."

He smiled, turning his head so he could rest his cheek against her hair, breathing in the scent of her. "Any time," he told her. "And I definitely mean that."

"Careful," she warned, and he could hear the smile in her voice as well. "I might just take you up on that."

* * *

Steve was whistling as he made his way to breakfast the next morning. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so good. Natasha had groaned and made dire threats when he rose early, then rolled over and buried herself in his blankets again. He chose to take that as a positive sign, that she had no regrets. 

He certainly didn't.

"Well. Sounds like someone had fun last night,” Clint smirked at him as Steve entered the kitchen. He was already most of the way through his breakfast, the only other person awake yet. He still looked tired, but not as drop-dead exhausted as he had the night before.

"I did." Steve did his best not to sound smug, but he had a sneaking suspicion he was failing. He couldn't help it, he just felt too damned good.

Clint just raised an eyebrow at him, then shook his head. "Well, she didn't eat you alive, at least."

"No, and I know exactly what hit me," Steve grinned back at him. "You must have been really damned tired to turn that down."

That made Clint laugh. "You’re right, I have to be half dead before I say no. Last night I’d have fallen asleep in the middle, and then I’d have been all the way dead," he said. "I won't complain if she's got another option besides a stranger, though."

Steve nodded, because it was true he'd rather see her with Clint than someone random, if he couldn't help her.

Taking his empty bowl over to the sink, Clint rinsed it out, then set it aside before heading for the door. Just before he left the room, he paused and raised an eyebrow at Steve. "Now we just have to hope she doesn't decide she wants a threesome next time."

Steve choked on the sip of coffee he'd just taken.


End file.
